


Any Kingdom, I Run

by blesser



Series: The Verger-Bloom Anniversary Tapes [1]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Anxiety, Deleted Scene, Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, Established Relationship, F/F, Fairytale Vibes, Hannibal Anniversary, Making Out in the Getaway Chopper with the Verger-Blooms, Parenting on the Run by the Verger-Blooms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-30
Updated: 2016-08-30
Packaged: 2018-08-12 00:24:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7913269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blesser/pseuds/blesser
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Margot sighs, sets her hands on the seat framing her wife's head, hair loose and spilling over her shoulder, strands tickling Alana's nose given how tightly pressed they are. Margot's mouth twitches and she tilts her head, considering.</p><p>"We made our own bed, love," she says finally, "we have to sleep in the bloody sheets."</p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>  <em>In honour of the one year anniversary of the Murder Wives flying off into the sunset, a little deleted scene from the helicopter.</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	Any Kingdom, I Run

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from Pearl's Dream by Bat For Lashes

 

Margot Verger; dressed in underwear and a too-short shirt, hair mussed, lipstick kiss smudged and faded, fingertips running lazily over every eye level volume in Alana's library and somehow honing in on the precious, the fantastical.

Margot Verger-Bloom, _Queen of the Castle_ , throwing possessions into suitcases with a carefully disguised haste as the FBI stands at the gates and brandishes a weapon capable of burning their kingdom down. Items thunk to the bottom of bags; a single photo album, their few shared clothes, passports, soft toys and books. That same borrowed book, oversized, cloth covered and beautiful, taken from Alana's old house only to lead her here to Muskrat Farm.

Now they all leave together, a new story.

The Verger Heiress, green eyes like colourless ice, standing on the steps -the precipice- of everything she is leaving behind. She glares back with a face full of cold detachment which mirrors the emotional wistfulness of Alana's own expression. Alana, who herself was only the voyeur of the cruel, violence of this place and yet still somehow she cannot help but feel a welling, complicated sadness at their departure.

Margot, struggling with the weight of a wriggling three year old on one hip and the heavy book in the bag on her other shoulder, looks like she wants to spit on the ground, salt the earth, before turning towards the helicopter. Her hair unwinds from its loose hold and billows back with her unmoored scarf in the quick breeze. She looks like the princess who climbed out of the tower using her own damn hair as a rope.

Alana swallows thickly, chalks the moisture in her eyes to the wind kicking up dust and follows.

His aunt, his true mother, the dragon with her teeth ready to rip into flesh lowers her head and whispers -with the softest mouth- all manner of stories into his hair. The book lies open, massive on their laps as the pages are turned by two hands. The sky gets closer and closer and the words find a rhythm. Alana feels her eyes drift shut despite the agitated alertness pounding in her bloodstream and a melancholic weariness hits her like a typhoon.

Margot isn't telling the stories right.

Alana, her eyes closed and forehead jumping against the window, hears the pages turn with a soft and rhythmic _shlick_ and yet the tales spoken are unfamiliar; the cruel receive much swifter comeuppance, escape is the end of every myth, the jealous and the bad families are punished in more brutal, eternal ways by wrathful, godlike innocents who all wear Margot's soft and lovely face.

Minor turbulence quakes Alana's seat enough that she jolts to full awareness just in time to hear Icarus soar into the sun and build a home on its surface, freeing himself from his troubles and living as a god, peaceful and safe.

Another voice rocks into Alana's consciousness and she snaps her eyes open immediately. It is just one of Margot's men though, twisted in his seat to speak to his employer in a hushed, urgent tone. Alana hears the words 'must call your lawyer', 'leaving the estate and risking the remaining funds' and 'jeopardising the legitimacy of the fortune' but all this hissed jargon is lost in the sight of Margot's face, her calm and unhurried look of irritation.

She wears the same expression she has been sporting ever since Alana told her to pack, on the steps of the Farm, even as she read stories to her child: displeased but unsurprised, as if all of this is just a minor inconvenience, like the wrong sandwiches served at tea.

Alana feels horribly unsettled, suddenly overwhelmingly tired and she lets her gaze drop naturally to her son for reassurance and comfort. His face is slack and endearingly unaware in sleep, he has one hand clenched in Margot's coat and the other spread proprietarily on the page in front of him.

Upside down and between the gaps of his chubby little fingers, Alana can just about decipher the contents of the page; A terrible King with his arms outstretched, a room filled to bust with coins, a woman on her knees, her eyes chillingly set, the golden penwork twisting and writhing on the page...

Her brain wakes with a start and tries to recalibrate, mind scurrying to assess the danger and her location, the distance of her son from her. Her body is, in sharp contrast, entirely unbothered. She is shifting away from the fragments of a rushed, bad dream and into the familiar weight of a head on her shoulder, the smell of jasmine and talc and _Margot_ , Margot's lips at her ear and some nonsensical raspy hush which settles her, pulls like a string on the slump of her spine into an arch and twists the grasp of her hands in a fine silky shirt.

"Just another half hour," Margot says in answer to the question on Alana's disoriented mind, then, "he is upfront," she follows up immediately, in answer to the other, first and foremost, question.

Alana cranes her neck to see over into the cockpit, she hears the low rumble of a grown man laughing in response to a higher, authoritative little voice before she sees a headset about a foot below the other heads at the controls. Satisfied, Alana leans back into Margot's arm where it is slung on the headrest of the leather bench.

"Is our son flying?" She jokes sleepily.

"Sure," Alana feels that cool, one armed shrug under her head.

"Where is he taking us?"

"Some place nice, and some place safe, if he is sticking to the plan."

"Into the sun?"

"Maybe," Margot shifts impossibly closer on the bench, "but Nova Scotia, was the original destination."

"I think building a home on the sun probably sounds more fun to a three year old than Nova Scotia, you should be careful what you read him."

"That nonsense?" Margot scoffs.

"That nonsense was not the nonsense on the page, you have your own brand of nonsense Margot and you can't get it past me."

"I can't get anything past you," she says fondly and drops a kiss on Alana's hair.

The flight smooths itself out and Alana calms, marginally relaxes into the pattern of Margot's fingers tapping Morse code into the nape of her neck and her voice weaving a new fairy story just for them. She tells Alana about the chariot awaiting them, the private jet, and the army ready to take them to far away England. The only country with a Verger held property not frequently used by Mason.

"My brother always said English boars were bores, and the swine weren't much good either," Margot half smiles, it doesn't reach her eyes, "I want to take our family somewhere he never touched one day."

Alana begins to feel the familiar disconnect from the world that air travel gives her, she explains to Margot how anything could be happening down there; nuclear war, epidemics, freak weather, vengeful ex-lovers with sharp weapons and murderous hearts...

Margot tucks her feet up under her on the bench, putting herself half in Alana's lap and she listens quietly with her lips bumping soft and sporadic on Alana's jaw.

_Untouchable_.

"Up here, we can be absolutely untouchable," Alana continues, feeling overly victorious.

Like a bow string let loose, Margot slides her hand in a path from the back of Alana's head, her throat to her chest. She settles the weight of her hand with palm flat on Alana’s heartbeat and fingertips on her clavicle.

"I can touch you."

Margot says it with such surety, like she hasn't ever been denied a thing, -which they both know isn't true at all-, but the confidence is appreciated, if not unexpectedly forceful.

Alana glances down at the gentle but sure touch and in her split red blouse it looks as though Margot's hand is disappearing inside her rib cage, grip around Alana's heart. Unbidden, the memory of a seminar on manual cardiac massage springs to mind, Alana hears her pulse in her ears, imagines the wind it would take to nosedive them, the pigs blood on the lecturers gloved hand.

_I was having a bad dream about you_ , Alana thinks as she watches Margot's fingers move, nails scraping deliciously against her collarbone, _On your knees, gold ink, stuck, set harder than stone in your golden, bloodied shirt forever. Midas' daughter all cold and unyielding, angry and untouchable forever_.

Margot has her index finger on the vulnerable hollow of Alana's throat, her wedding band a pulse point somehow like it is alive, the green gem is a winking beetle and her thumb, Alana shivers as Margot traces the lace of her bra along the edge with just the whisper of skin to skin contact.

_Your fathers money was all a curse and it broke you, made you, you spent a lifetime chasing after the spell to break it, the gift, the treasure but the prize has changed and I won't let you touch him. Not like that._

In her dream Margot was dead eyed, shimmering, arms outstretched and Alana just wanted to touch, knew she would be as cold and deadly as the mountain of shaking, shifting, heavy coins on which they stood.

Now, Margot is pushing herself into Alana's space, knee between her leg and face hidden like a child burrowing under the covers to hide from a monster. Her lips are almost on Alana's earlobe when she breaks the spell, cracks her way out of the set and cold hardness that has lingered behind her eyes the whole journey:

"It's all going to be alright you know."

Alana slips her hands free from their clenched position in Margot's shirt front; she can feel the wire-taut tension in her own body and the laughable relief dawning at how stupid she was being. Putting a necessary distance between them, Alana pushes Margot back by the hips, thumbs sharp in the groove there just to hear the predicted gasp.

Nearly entirely in Alana's lap now, Margot straightens her back, looks questioning or at least mildly curious. Her expressions are a motion out of the corner of Alana's eye sometimes, blink and miss.

When facing a fight, Alana will plan for high ground, scream with lungs full of a war cry and confront with whatever weapon her hand reaches first.

Margot keeps her face neutral and moves in the dark. But her quiet fight doesn't demonstrate a lack of care or feeling and Alana is realizing how unfair she has been today. Resourceful, undemonstrative Margot will move them between countless private vehicles and properties until they are safe; will buy and bribe whatever it takes, she has somehow procured a falsified passport for their son and she put a wedding ring on Alana's finger that probably, definitely, cost more than her first apartment. In fact, Alana could probably finish paying off her student loan with Margot's earring alone, she thinks as she presses a kiss there, then on the shell of her ear and her cheek.

"Thank you," Alana says. And then: "I want to burn all the money."

Margot laughs, genuine and throaty.

"The money is keeping us alive."

"It is covering us in blood."

Margot sighs, sets her hands on the seat framing her wife's head, hair loose and spilling over her shoulder, strands tickling Alana's nose given how tightly pressed they are. Margot's mouth twitches and she tilts her head, considering.

"We made our own bed, love," she says finally, "we have to sleep in the bloody sheets."

Alana shakes her head forcefully.

"There will be other beds, other means to make what we need to survive and other houses," she tightens her grip on Margot's waist, "I want to take you somewhere he never touched too, and not just someday. Now."

Possessive is not a word on Alana's long, self-written list of character flaws so she is surprising herself here, truly. Margot doesn't seem to be counting this as a bad new development however as she practically tries to push her body _i_ _nto_ Alana, driving them against the surprisingly cramped back of the helicopter.

Alana is overwhelmed and pleased by the closeness, all she can see is Margot in her vision, the small smile, the molten rust coloured silk, golden hair and skin, the flash of jewellery at her throat and wrists and all of her  _blinding_ in the sunlight streaming through the window.

Hands a sure grip on Margot's waist, Alans holds her close to her and, _God_ , how could she ever think of Margot as cold, as anything but this loving, under-the-surface burning inferno. The shining, Verger heiress facade might need unzipping at the end of the day and Alana is ashamed and apologetic with her touch, she should've known better.

Margot’s hot eyes are closing as she leans in to press her lips to Alana's finally, properly, and there are layers upon layers of comfort here and warmth that Margot has never known and Alana was hesitant to give. They both want it now, it is an easy thins, hands roaming in celebration and exploration. The kiss is surprisingly soft, closed lipped, small touches. You are safe with me, their grabbing hands say.

Margot pulls back and regards Alana unsmilingly, eyes just the softer side of calculating as she slides herself off of her lap to give herself more space till they are sat side to side but turned to each other as a magnet is drawn.

Gently, Margot twists her hand over and over in Alana's ruined hair and drags her forward to kiss her.

Alana moans low and pleased into her mouth, grabs Margot's jaw and tilts her head back, deepening the kiss with a messy relief, a sloppy sort of happiness that leaves them gasping.

Margot writhes on the seat as Alana sucks not so gently on her lip and the tip of her tongue, gets her teeth light as a feather touch into the cupids bow, the place where she half-smiles, the generous and funny lilt of Margot's mouth.

Their movement knocks the heavy book to the ground with a muffled thud but if the pilot or guard hear anything they are too professional to turn around. Margot and Alana still freeze though, teenagers caught in the backseat, their hands all over each other and appearance in utter disarray.

"Margot," Alana murmurs, eyes fixed at the front of the helicopter warily. Her voice is too full and wrecked to sound like the protest it is trying to be, even to her own ears, Alana sounds like she is begging.

Margot untangles her hands from all over Alana, feigns a pout quite believably but reaches for Alana's hand instead, interlocking their fingers and stroking across the back of her knuckles lovingly.

"I mean, they are definitely paid enough," she sighs, eyes wicked, "but if it makes you happy."

Alana is, actually. Happy. She is hit in the chest like a lightning bolt happy and no force of nature or family curse is going to get in the way of it.

Margot tucks herself under Alana’s arm innocently, dragging the book off of the floor and sighing contended, she settles it on her lap as though they hadn’t just been halfway to undressing each other in the back of a helicopter and instead are in their bed ready to turn off the light and drift.

Putting her hand over Margot’s, Alana takes the book and control of the story, she reads until Margot’s chest is rising and falling evenly. Doesn’t stop when the guard lifts their baby into the back and buckles him, also sleeping, into the seat and the cradle of Margot’s arms. She moves in her sleep to wrap her arms around him and when the pilot initiates landing a three of them are out.

Hand in hand, locked safe in one hold, they descend together, minds at rest, dreaming, ready for the new battles and ready to rebuild. All of their monsters behind them.  
  
---  
  
 


End file.
